


Jealousy

by Python07



Series: Archer Wakes Up Bi-Sexual [2]
Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Crack, M/M, stalker Archer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archer continues to stalk Ray and drags Krieger along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

The bar was crowded and loud. Country music played in the background. There were peanut shells on the floor.

“Lana,” Archer sing-songed close to her ear.

Lana jerked her head away. She folded her arms across her chest and deliberately looked away from him.

Archer hopped up and down on his bar stool. “Lana!”

Lana stuck her nose in the air.

Archer took another swig from his gigantic margarita and shouted even louder, “Lana!”

Lana turned to him and slammed her hands down onto the bar. “What!”

Archer grinned in the face of her displeasure. He held up his glass. “Have a drink.”

Lana’s eyes flashed. “No. No. No.”

“Oh, come on.” Archer waved an arm to encompass their surroundings. He grabbed the edge of the bar to keep from falling down. “This is the first time we’ve all been out since the proverbial shit hit the fan.”

Lana glared at him. “Archer, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Don’t be a stick in the mud. We’re out of that gigantic house with all its weird noises and smells. Mother’s on a date with Ron.” Archer shuddered briefly in disgust but brightened again almost immediately. He pointed at Cheryl playing darts and completely missing the dart board. “It’s almost like the warden is gone, we’re on parole, and everyone’s in the spirit except you. There’s Cheryl.” He nodded in the direction of the back room. “Pam’s gonna win a nice chunk of change arm wrestling and I sent Cyril with her to make sure she doesn’t blow it. And where’s Krieger?”

Lana cocked her thumb over her shoulder. “Doing shots of tequila with a bunch of truckers.”

Archer pumped his fist in the air a couple times. “That German’s a crazy son of a bitch. Get ’em, Krieger. Wooooo!”

Lana slapped Archer’s hand down. “Stop it!”

Archer arched both his eyebrows and grinned. “No.” He bounced on his stool again. “Come on,” he whined. “I really want you to have a drink with me.”

Lana rolled her eyes and pointed down to her own rounded belly. “I’m pregnant, remember? With a baby?”

“Yeah, so?” Archer asked, completely oblivious.

Lana enunciated each word slowly and carefully. “I. Can’t. Drink. Alcohol.”

Archer hunched over the bar and planted his chin in his hand. “Stupid baby,” he muttered and petulantly stirred his margarita with a small pink umbrella. “You used to be a lot more fun, Manhands.”

Lana waited until he was about to take a drink and smacked him in the back of the head. “And you used to have more than one working brain cell, Dipshit.”

Archer sprayed his mouthful of margarita. He put his glass down and looked at the stain on the front of his shirt. Plus, his hands were wet and sticky. He held them away from his body and pouted at her. “Thanks a lot. This shirt is new. It’s linen, Lana. Linen.”

Lana threw a handful of napkins at him. “Poor baby.”

Archer wiped his hands and dabbed at his shirt. “You’re paying my dry cleaning bill.”

Lana snorted. “Yeah, good luck collecting on that.” She pushed away from the bar. “My feet are killing me. I’m outta here.”

“Fine. You know what? Fine. Just abandon me.” Archer waved and this time he did slip and fall. He landed hard on his knees. He glared at Lana laughing at him, grabbed the edge of the bar, and hauled himself up to his feet. “Your motherly compassion is astounding.”

Lana smirked. “A child can be excused for acting like a dumbass. You should know better. And I emphasize should.”

Archer dropped onto his stool and stared moodily into his glass. “Just go. Where’s your best girlfriend? Ray will drink with me.”

Lana looked around. She slapped Archer’s arm. She snickered. “No, he won’t.”

Archer looked up and followed Lana’s gaze to Ray at the other end of the bar. Ray’s back was to them as he was chatting with the man next to him. The stranger had wavy black hair and warm brown eyes that never wavered from Ray.

“Who the fuck is that?” Archer frowned. “And where did he find that hideous shirt?”

Lana eased back down onto her stool. “I don’t know. And come on. That shirt brings out the guy’s eyes.” She grinned widely. “I think Ray’s is going to get to know him a lot better.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Only you can be this dense.” Lana glanced at Archer and then back again. “Look at the way they’re sitting. They’re fully turned towards each other and leaning into each other’s space.” 

Archer shifted uneasily. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He gulped his margarita instead.

“Look. Ray’s taking a drink and look at how the guy is watching him, like he wants to devour our Ray.” 

Archer didn’t like the way his gut twisted. His nose wrinkled. “Oh God, Lana.”

Lana arched her eyebrows suggestively. “At least someone’s going to break their dry spell.”

“You could’ve conceived the baby in the traditional fun way instead of artificial insemination. That’s your fault,” Archer pointed out, not taking his eyes off them.

Lana turned her attention back to Archer. She favored him with the mother of all glares. “What did you say?”

Archer glanced at her. He started and threw his hands up in surrender. “What? It’s not like we’ve never had sex before.”

“Ass,” Lana hissed and started to stand.

Archer saw the stranger lean in close to Ray’s ear. He glowered in their direction. “That isn’t a good idea. We have no idea who that is.”

Lana rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be jealous.”

Archer sat up straight. “I am not jealous,” he squeaked indignantly.

Lana put a hand in the small of her back and stretched. “Yes, you are. You’re pissed that Ray is getting some tonight while you’re not. You are such a man whore.”

Archer stuck his chin out. “Am not. What if that’s an enemy agent?”

“Please,” Lana drawled. “There’s no more ISIS and the only one the Russians really want dead is you. Besides, Ray can take care of himself.”

Archer stood. “No. We should all leave now.”

Lana pushed Archer back down onto the stool. She squeezed his shoulder, hard. She leaned in close to Archer’s ear and whispered venomously, “You will not ruin this for Ray.”

Archer winced. “But--”

Lana pinched Archer’s ear. “If you don’t keep your distance, Malory will find out about your brief tenure as a pirate king. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Archer grit out.

“Promise me.”

Archer grabbed her wrist but she just pinched harder. “Yes, I promise. God. I need this ear, Lana.”

Lana let go. She gave a predatory smile, like a shark. “Good. Finish your drink and I’ll see ya back at the mansion later.”

Archer didn’t bother watching her leave. He couldn’t stop watching Ray and Mr. Hideous Shirt. The conversation between them looked to be easy and Lana was right. They leaned into each other’s space with every other sentence. Mr. Hideous Shirt kept smiling like an idiot and covered Ray’s hand resting on the bar with his own. Ray didn’t take his hand away.

Archer stared at the scarred top of the bar. “I don’t like that guy,” he muttered and chugged the rest of his drink. He slammed the glass down. When he looked up again, Ray and Mr. Hideous Shirt were gone.

Archer jumped off his stool and approached Krieger’s table. “Krieger,” he said urgently.

Krieger sat at a round table with six burly truckers. Five of them were passed out or damn close. There was a pot of cash in the center of the table.

Krieger downed another shot, turned the glass upside down, and set it on the table alongside multiple others. He grunted at the burn. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Not now, Archer.”

Archer elbowed between Krieger and a trucker passed out with his head down on the table. Archer leaned on it. “Yes, now.”

Krieger watched his last opponent’s shaky hands as his opponent brought a shot glass to his lips. “Just a moment.”

“But--”

Krieger elbowed Archer in the chest. “Almost done.”

The last trucker threw the shot back. He blinked blearily for a moment. He tried to put the glass down. Instead, he swayed in his seat. A second later, he was sprawled on the floor and snoring.

Krieger stood up to rake in his winnings. “Okay. Now what?”

“Ray just left with a guy wearing a truly hideous shirt.”

Krieger settled back in his seat and counted the cash. “So?” he asked absently.

“So,” Archer hissed. “By the way they were looking at each other, I think they’re gonna…” his voice trailed off. “…you know.”

Krieger stuffed the cash in his pocket. “And?”

Archer grabbed Krieger’s arm. “Come on.”

Krieger let Archer drag him out of the bar. “I find it amusing that you of all people can’t say that Ray’s gone to have sex.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I believe the English expression is booty call.” Krieger snickered. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re--”

Archer abruptly pulled his pistol and pointed it at Krieger’s forehead. “If you say jealous, I will shoot you.”

Krieger’s eyes got wide. He put his hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it.”

Archer glared at Krieger for a moment longer before putting his gun away. “Now, I assume you have a way to track all of us.”

Krieger led the way. “Yup. Yup. Yup. Chips in all your watches. We’ll have to take my van.” He tossed Archer the keys. “You drive.”

Archer climbed behind the wheel while Krieger was in the back of the van. Krieger sat at a bank of computers and monitors anchored to one side of the van. He flipped a couple switches and a blip appeared on one of the monitors. “They’re not headed towards the mansion. They must be headed to the other guy’s place. Head north out of the parking lot.”

Archer put the van in gear. “His name is Mr. Hideous Shirt,” he remarked sourly.

Krieger shrugged. “Okay. Mr. Hideous Shirt it is.”

Archer followed Krieger’s directions. “I thought Ray was more responsible than that,” he muttered. “Leaving with a complete stranger. Has stranger danger lost all meaning?”

Krieger swallowed his response.

“There are some lessons from Kindergarten that apply for a lifetime,” Archer continued as if this whole scenario was a grievous offense to the universe.

Krieger bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. He fed Archer directions in a flat voice while Archer continued muttering to himself.

They parked a block from Mr. Hideous Shirt’s apartment building. They snuck up to the roof across the street. The building looked to be newly renovated. It had classic architecture but new windows and paint.

Krieger whistled. “The Andres Brewery Lofts. Living there isn’t cheap.”

Archer was busy scanning the building with high powered binoculars. “Just as I thought. Mr. Hideous Shirt is a rich, pretentious asshole.”

Krieger slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “To be fair, we really have no proof of that.”

“God, Krieger.” Archer sighed heavily in disappointment. He didn’t stop scanning the building. “The shirt. The loft. What more do you need?”

“Can I ask? What’s the plan here?”

“The plan,” Archer drawled, “is to make sure Ray doesn’t do something stupid.” He held a hand up. “Hold on. I have it. Top floor. Three windows in from the east.”

Krieger motioned for the binoculars. “Let me see.”

Archer stepped to the side. “No.” He saw Ray on the couch while Mr. Hideous Shirt walked towards the window. “No, don’t close the curtains.” His voice rose to a dramatic pitch. “Don’t close the curtains!” Then his shoulders slumped.

“He closed the curtains, didn’t he?” Krieger asked blandly.

Archer jerked his arm as he pointed at the window. “Yes, Krieger! Yes. He closed the damn curtains!”

Krieger turned on his heel. “There’s nothing more we can do. Let’s go.”

“But--”

Krieger didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “Unless you’re planning on breaking in and then explaining why to Ray and your mother,” he said with particular emphasis on the last word. “There’s nothing more to be done. Now, come on.”

Archer kicked at the ground and then started following. “Fine.”


End file.
